Everything
by ElissaCousland
Summary: Inspired by SuzakuSama's "Call Me". AU.  Fang's a drunk, Vanille's a pill-head, Cid's a corrupt politician, and Lightning never joined the GC cause they don't allow women.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Inspired by "Call Me" by SuzakuSama and the song Everything by Buckcherry.

-Everything-

Ch. 1: Just Another Trick

Chronology: Present Day.

"Lightning", as she's known on the streets, sits quietly at the bar of this far-too-fancy-for-her-own-tastes restaurant. She knows she'd never come here on her own. Way too expensive. So she throws back the rest of her drink and waits, drumming her fingers on the bar. For a moment, her coaster seems to be something worth further inspection, but she quickly loses interest and dismisses the thought.

Soft elevator music plays gently in the backdrop, a few sparse couples sway on the dance floor, lost in the moments of each other. The bartender returns to her with a helpful smile on his young, clean face. "Another, miss?" he asks politely.

Lightning does a quick check inside of her purse, makes an exaggerated disappointed shrug. Shakes her head, softly as she meets the young man's eyes. "No. I guess, I'll just have a water…it's…getting late anyway…"

Her eyes slide over to her left. A balding, middle-aged man sits there in a dark navy blue suit and matching tie. His eyes are bloodshot. The cigar between his large meaty fingers burns an ignored path down toward his flesh. He's too pissed-drunk to notice the inflection of Lightning's voice, the low husky tone beneath her words, but it does carry to someone.

The tall athletic brunette eyes this woman cautiously. She slams back her own drink and with a simple flick of her wrist signals to the barman to get her another of the same. He nods, quietly acknowledging her request. Jade eyes slide over to the pink-haired woman, who has now lit a cigarette and is sucking suggestively on it, her attention fully trained on the man to her left.

A smirk comes to the brunette's lips. "Those things'll kill ya," she warns, as she leans over, effectively invading the other woman's space. The woman rolls her ocean-blue eyes and blows out her smoke. The smirk never leaves the taller woman's eyes.

"Tell me something I _don't_ know," the pinkette murmurs under her breath.

The raven-haired woman leans her tall, athletic frame closer to the slightly shorter blonde. Her eyes never leave the other woman's face. "They'll age ya first, though" she says, smirking as a tiny inkling of horror alights behind the blonde woman's eyes.

She regains herself quickly enough, her eyes settling back to their cool, indifferent demeanor. The brunette can't help herself. She reaches for the blonde's face, trailing her knuckles down the smooth skin of her cheek. " It's a shame," she says, her eyes burning into the blue ones before her, and she knows by the wide whites that now show, and the gentle shiver at the unexpected touch, that the woman is caught off-guard by her charm. The brunette's lips curl up in an easygoing grin designed to make the blonde feel more at ease. Her smile widens more, when it works and the "working girl" relaxes in her presence.

The raven-haired woman shakes her head. "Ah, who'm I kiddin' right?" she says, raising her second glass, "Like this isn't worse, huh?" she asks, slamming it back and signaling for another. The blonde never falters. Her eyes narrow, and the brunette can see vicious intelligence flash behind the striking blue orbs.

"Who are you anyway?" _Can never be too careful_, Lightning thinks. After all, prostitution isn't exactly _legal_.

The brunette chuckles, her accent, subtle at first, comes alive with the release of tension. "Me? I'm just someone," she says. Her shoulders come up in a dismissive shrug. Her demeanor changes instantly. Her eyes smolder. She closes the distance. Her voice goes low and husky, matching Lightning's earlier attempt.

"Someone…" she says slowly, reaching for Lightning's forgotten cigarette as her eyes continue to burn through the woman before her. "…who wants…" she takes the cigarette, her eyes never leaving Lightning's. The blonde flinches when their fingers momentarily touch and fireworks shoot up her nerves to twitter around in her body like she's never known. Lightning finds it hard to think clearly, her eyes locked, imprisoned by the stranger before her, this mysterious, and beautif-no, downright _handsome_- woman with the definite not-from-around-Cocoon accent.

Lightning stares and doesn't notice that her lips have parted slightly, that her breathing is rapid, that her pale skin is flushed. The brunette continues to tease her, her cigarette now being sucked suggestively and slowly, those smoldering emeralds scorching her body with a strange new heat. "…to buy you a drink…" the brunette finally finishes, winking at Lightning, with a smile that says, _I know what you are and I want it_. And somehow, Lightning forgets to breathe.

She swallows hard and licks her lips absently, her throat is suddenly dry. No one has ever made her feel this way. Frightened. Exhilarated. So _turned on_. She forces a smile to her painted lips. The brunette grins back at her, ear to ear. Her eyes are somewhat wild and unfocused, and Lightning eagerly knocks back her second drink and hops down from the bar stool. She smooths her satin dress down, as the brunette crushes out her cigarette and tells the bartender to "put it on my tab, Mickey," The fresh-faced boy nods and waves them good evening.

Lightning's pace is quick, half out of nerves and half because the brunette is all legs, easily outpacing her to her ca- er…limo…? Lightning swallows back a gasp and tries to act cool. She's had plenty of Johns before. Hundreds even. Maybe thou- no, maybe not quite _that _many…but still, she's had her fair share. And mostly they were types like this dyke. Rich. Only this dyke was more than rich, she realized as the chauffer opened the door and bowed deeply to her before she got in. From the size of the limo, which seemed more like a deep, dark, cavern once she got inside, Lightning knew, this woman was filthy rich. Filthy, stinking rich.

_Well_ she thought to herself. _Never had a Jane before. At least this one'll be worth my time and effort._

The fierce brunette had gotten in behind her and was now looking at her expectantly. A few moments pass while Lightning takes in her surroundings and the brunette begins to stroke her knee, sending shockwaves of pleasure and desire directly to her center. This is a wholly new experience for Lightning. She bats away the hand to remove the distraction so she can calm herself.

_Focus, Lightning. This is no different than any other John. She's just another trick. _In that instant, her cool, calculating demeanor returns and the nervous, brazen drunk notices, pulling back to look more clearly at the blonde's expression.

Blue eyes rove the brunette ruthlessly scanning every detail of her person for information. From the material of her suit, the amount and quality of the diamonds in her watch and stud earrings, the pure, large emeralds surrounded by gold of her cufflinks, the Migelo brand belt, Lady Ashelia tie and Ratsbane loafers, Lightning comes up with a number.

"Ten grand. Cash. Upfront. " she says firmly, knowing the handsome dyke can more than afford it. Hell it's probably chump change to her.

The dark-haired woman only smirks arrogantly at her. "By the hour?"

Lightning rolls her eyes. _Surely she can't be that dumb. _She sighs. "Yes, of course by the-"

"And what if I wanna keep ya _all night_?" the brunette inquires, her voice gone back to that low, accented, throaty drawl. Her arrogant smirk grows, lips turning up at the corners of her mouth.

"Wha-? N-No…I-can't-" Lightning stammers, "Ser-I…midnight," she says finally.

The brunette snorts, a light chuckle escapes her mouth. "Ha! The slut's got a curfew?"

Black spots fill her vision suddenly and her head swirls, the side of her face aches with a sharp throb, the sound of a sonic boom rings in her ears.

"I'm a _whore_, not a slut. There's a difference. Ten grand difference. Never forget that," she says coldly.

The brunette rubs the side of her face that just got slapped. She nods slowly. "Yea, sorry." she mumbles. "the booze…makes me stupid sometimes…" her lips twitches upward in an apologetic smile.

"So…" she glances down at her diamond-encrusted watch. "Midnight, eh? That means I've got you for…the next three hours," she says. Reaching into the inside pocket of her suit jacket, she pulls out a rubber-banded wad of gil and tosses it to the blonde.

Lightning catches it mid-air, and somehow manages not to gape at the amount. She thumbs through it quickly and realizes it's all 100 gil bills. _There's got to be twenty, thirty thousand gil here, easy_, she marvels. It's more money than she's ever seen in her life at one time.

As if, by way of explanation, the brunette speaks. "It's all there. Thirty thou. Give or take a few thou," she shrugs, "call the rest a…tip," that heart-melting smile flashes again and Lightning feels her knees tremble. She quickly stuffs the wad of cash in her purse. She glances down at her watch. 9:15.

"Better tell your driver to step on it. Time's wasting," she says.

To her surprise, the tanned woman straddles her, "Or we could just start now," she says. The next thing Lightning knows, her head is swimming wildly and the woman's mouth is on hers, her tongue invading, caressing, exploring the depths of Lightning's mouth and it's all she can do not to moan or shudder when she feels a hand creep up her thigh, raking nails in an upward trail toward her center.

She shoves the brunette away, ripping their lips apart with a wet smack. "What?" the dark-haired woman asks, a bewildered confusion on her face.

Lightning shakes her head. "No kissing," she says, catching a breath, "It's against the rules,"

The brunette chuckles heartily. "Well you didn't say that before we started, dear. There any other rules I'm gonna be tempted to break?"

Lightning pauses. The brunette suddenly realizes something is wrong. The blonde is quiet for far too long. "Yea," she says softly, "don't-" she swallows hard, but forces her gaze to meet the no-longer-arrogant emeralds, and the brunette is torn by this simple action.

"Don't get violent," she says, almost too soft to be heard over the rushing wind coming in from the half-cracked windows, "please,"

Oerba Yun Fang's throat tightens, her eyes water. She glances away, appalled, disgusted, hurting for this stranger's previous hurts. She swallows and lets out a slow breath. Turning back to face the blonde, her voice is steady, her accent thicker. "I wouldn't ever dream of-"

"Shhh…" Lightning silences the handsome lesbian with a finger against her plush lips. She quickly switches their position, turning and shoving the other woman back against the leather seat. She straddles the taller woman and shivers at the feel of her long, slender fingers as they meet at the small of her back, locking tight. Holding her secure.

Lighting finds the woman's pulse point and attacks without mercy, suckling hard at the flushed and throbbing flesh. The woman lets out a grunt, her breaths quickly become short and shallow. "Shit," she curses, as her hands desperately push up Lightning's dress and travel further upward.

Lightning sits back, breaking the contact long enough to pull the dress over her head. The brunette eyes her ample tits appreciatively before pulling a rosy pink nipple into her mouth and giving it a similar treatment. One arm has Lightning around the waist to keep her steady in the moving vehicle, the other gropes and massages her other breast and Lightning wants to cry out for this experienced lesbian. Half-suppressed sounds make their escape from her lips because the combined sensations of fingers, lips, teeth and tongue working each of her breasts vigorously in turn is almost too much to bear and she can't suppress it all.

_No…_

Lightning closes her eyes and pushes away, forcing herself out of the brunette's grasp. This isn't about her pleasure tonight. It's never about Lightning's pleasure. This is work. It's always work. And what the client pays for…the client gets…

Green eyes smolder with want as a nervous Lightning slowly pulls the brunette's tie out of it's formal knot with trembling fingers. Fang grasps hold of one of her hands, only to suckle gently on her index finger, all while eyeing Lightning knowingly. Lightning tries to ignore the gentle stir of arousal between her legs, focusing instead on pulling the tie off, and just before it finally comes loose, she feels a sharp pressure on the tip of her finger, and the gentle arousal spikes exponentially. She bites her lower lip, to keep her excitement contained, but the brunette can feel her warmth through the thin, moist barrier of her panties.

Lightning slides down the woman's body, landing to her knees on the carpeted floor. She grips the woman's shirt with both hands, fingers expertly snugged in between buttons, and pulls her hands apart, tearing the woman's shirt open, exposing her tanned flesh. The woman gasps in surprise, but Lightning is sure she doesn't mind. Her chest heaves, her skin is flushed, her breaths are short.

_No_, Lightning thinks, as her hand gently glides up the woman's perfectly toned stomach, _she doesn't mind_. She carefully cups a laced breast and gives it a firm squeeze. The woman arches into her hand, giving a soft moan. Lightning's hand shoves under the bra, to grope the large breast skin-to-skin and receives a louder moan as her reward. She takes the woman's nipple between her thumb and forefinger rolling it between her digits with a firm pressure. The brunette sighs, throwing her head back against the seat.

Lightning's heart begins to pound, and it's a sensation she's not used to. One she's uncomfortable with. _Stop it, you're __**Lightning**__. You don't scare. Besides, she's just another trick._

_Just another trick._ she tells herself as she nervously fumbles with the brunette's belt. The leather is stiff, brand new, and it won't budge. Her tension builds higher, turning to fury. Her fumbling becomes rough, angry tugs at the material that dares to defy her.

"Wait," the brunette whispers breathily, " Here, let me," she says, expertly manipulating the leather to her whim with nimble, dexterous fingers. The tail slides through the buckle with ease at her gentle coaxing. Lightning seizes the brunette by the waist of her slacks. The rest of the task is accomplished in a quick flash from knowing hands and the brunette gasps as her garments suddenly make friends with her ankles.

Lightning shoves the brunette's knees apart and pauses. She knows she's venturing into unfamiliar territory. She glances up. Emeralds flicker down at her, unable to hide the desire burning through her being. Lightning relaxes. She knows this look. She dives in, confident in her silently appointed task. She's good at this. Even if this is her first Jane.

Her first taste brings a satisfied moan from the brunette's lips as the woman's hips buck forward to meet her mouth. It's not that different, she realizes, her confidence growing in leaps and bounds with each sigh, each whispered curse from the other woman, who steadily begins to melt for her. "Shit, shit," she sighs, "Oh, fuck…you-you're so good,"

Lightning smiles at this. Their eyes meet as Lightning continues swirling her tongue inside the other woman, while she sucks gently at the small bundle of nerves.

The brunette's hand is suddenly in her hair, grasping painfully. Her hips jerk forward. Her legs clamp shut and Lightning can't breathe anymore. She has a moment of panic with the sudden restriction of airflow to her lungs. Then the other woman shudders and Lightning can feel her body reverberate with a deep groan, and she realizes she's done her job. The brunette comes hard.

OOOOOOO

A/N- I might tweek this just a bit. Ch. 2 is in the works. This is prolly gonna turn out darker than my usual. but it is a Fang/Light romance, unconventional maybe, but one anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: should warn ya I guess, this chap is hetsex, which is of course not my best subject. meh. :/

-Everything-

Ch. 2: First Time

Chronology: Six years ago.

Half a dozen peppy girls squeal, giggle, and bounce about the field, showing off their finely honed gymnastic skills. One girl high-kicks into the air and shakes her pom-poms, her plastered-on smile never falters.

Claire watches them all with a mixture of pride and disgust. Pride, because she is their Captain, and the Bodhum High Babes are the number one cheer squad in Cocoon. Some of the girls are jealous of her because she's only a freshman, and at fourteen, she's younger than most of the squad. The disgust is earned of their general shallow nature, their worries mainly consisting of their own vanity and which of the boys in the school are the cutest.

Claire Farron knows better than most kids her age. That the world can be cruel. And that sometimes, you have to do things -things you may not like- in order to survive.

_It's not a question of can or can't. Some things in life, you just do._

Because the alternative is to send your sister away, to live with another family, one that wouldn't take care of her, not as well as you can, because you know, deep down in your heart, that you're the only one who'll ever love her, who'll ever need her, as much as you do. So you give everything you have. Every last ounce of your sweat, every last drop of your blood, every heartbeat, the last breath of your soul, for her. And you do things -things you aren't proud of-can't bear to say aloud, but you do them anyway.

Then the stares and laughter begin. Behind your back, of course, because the cowards aren't brave enough to say those things to your face. Word gets around fast. Guys approach you in the halls, while the girls scowl daggers into your back as you make over towards the restrooms.

The gym teacher blows her whistle. The sharp trilling breaks Claire from her reverie. The boy she'd been staring at was one she hasn't met before. A new one. _Word gets around fast._ She knows he'll be waiting.

The cheerleaders gather at the door to the girl's locker room. Claire falls in behind them, giving herself plenty of distance from their mindless chatter.

**That was a great practice, Amy!**

**Thanks! I just know we're gonna win state this year!**

**Wouldn't that be awesome?**

"Tch," Claire rolls her eyes.

_What would be awesome is if you skanks just shut the fuck up._

But then she feels bad. These girls used to be her friends, after all. It's not their fault that Claire's parents are dead. She sighs, feeling worse than she did just moments ago. She ducks her head as she passes through the door and strides quickly to her locker. She inputs her code into the numeric lock mechanism and it pops open with a metallic _shunk._

She dresses back into her comfortable clothes from the humiliatingly skimpy cheer outfit and suddenly feels much better. The bell rings and she leaves without looking back.

Sure enough, he's there, waiting for her in the hall when she gets to her locker to pick up her history book. She ignores him, shuffling a few things around in her locker, until he breaks the silence.

"You're Farron, right?"

"Who wants to know?" she says coldly as she slams her locker shut.

"Name's Mike," he says. "Mike Perkins. I just transferred from Palumpolum," he explains, extending a hand in her direction.

Blue eyes narrow at the hand in front of them. "What do you want Mike?" she asks, colder than before.

The hand before her shoots out to the side, against her locker, blocking her exit as he leans closer to her. Claire isn't intimidated in the least though. She knows what he wants.

"I wanna know if it's true," he whispers, "they say…that you do things…favors…for guys, if they've got the money,"

His only response is a cold stare.

"How much?"

"Twenty," she says, and walks away.

It takes the bewildered boy a few moments to realize that maybe he should follow her. That's her intent, right? Discretion. She's a few feet from the door to the ladies room, when she turns back, throwing him an exasperated expression. A roll of her eyes, a head shake. A quick flick of her eyes towards the door, before she slips through casually, without a backward glance. The boy jogs to catch up.

He's met at the other side of the door by her fist which grasps hold of his collar and guides him to the last stall. Her other hand unlatches the door and then joins the other to shove him inside. He falls backward from the force of her push and lands on the toilet. She wastes no time, her hands immediately relieving his growing need of it's cloth trappings.

She doesn't bother with a gentle touch. Slender fingers grasp him firmly to start a strong, steady rhythm. His legs fall open wider. "Shhhit…" he pants. He tries to grab her, to touch her breasts, but she maneuvers away, staying just out of reach.

"F-Farron…" he sighs, thrusting his hips into her deliciously experienced hands. Her strokes become swifter, she squeezes tighter. He nearly spills right then. "Mmffph," he bites his lip to stifle a strangled cry. He grasps her wrist, the one that's working the base of his cock, to still it, while the other is still preoccupied with the head. His eyes roll back in their sockets. His head tilts backward.

"Suck it," he begs, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Claire Farron ceases all motion. She stares at him, struck dumb. Mike comes to, his eyes coming back into to focus for a brief moment. "I'll pay more," he says, and as if to confirm his desperation, his cock throbs hotly in her hands, pulsing and flushed with heat.

"I-I'm not…" she stammers, trying to defend to her honor. But the thing is…

_Actually…you __**are**__._

And she believes it, because it must be true. All the girls seem to think so. And the boys only confirm it- with the gil she uses to buy groceries so Serah won't starve. So, preceded by a sigh, her knees touch down onto the tiled floor.

She grasps the base of his cock firmly once more, her other hand running lightly over the top of the shaft, teasing his head with tickling fingers. His hips resume their undulating motions. She closes her eyes when she feels him grasp the back of her head as he eases her toward his aching member.

Her mouth is intruded, invaded, _fucked_, by his hot, rigid cock. He does most of the work himself in his desperation. "Suck it," he says again, louder. "I'm paying you. Suck me off, bitch,"

She bristles at this. Her teeth sink into the tenderized flesh just behind the mushroom ridge of his head and underneath as well. A snarled warning, she could bite it off. He gasps out in pain, his grip in her hair tightens as he pulls his hips instinctively away from her, but he's caught. She won't let go. Momentary panic flashes through his lust-glazed eyes.

All is forgiven and forgotten a moment later, when she starts to suck his dick. He's in heaven, transfixed on the sensation of her mouth, her tongue. Teeth become little more than a passing memory. His grip in her hair relaxes. His hips buck harder, begging closer contact, fuller contact.

"Fal'Cie…" he sighs, "take it…take it deep…" he groans, guiding her head lower, until her lips meet his pelvis. Her breath warm as she exhales, tickles along his hair. "Mm, yeah, just like that," he pants.

Claire loses her sense of time in the rhythmic motion of her head bobbing up and down, her throat working for all she's worth. Strangely, her mind wanders to math homework of all things, a particularly challenging problem involving tangents and cosigns and all that other confusing shit she can't make sense of while she's in class. She figures it must be the teacher's droning voice that bores her to tears, encouraging frequent naps on her part.

"Fucking Fal'Cie!"

Lava sears her throat in gushing spurts, so sudden, she gags on it. She pulls away and is assaulted with jolts of sticky, hot sperm-liquid. _Gross._ She thinks absently as some of it lands on her clothes. The sudden assault subsides as his member withers away into the recesses of his pants.

Claire wipes the come off of her shirt and makes a disgusted face because it's now all over her hands. A wad of toilet paper is offered, perhaps as a gesture of peacemaking. She takes it with a grateful but dry, "Thanks."

He adjusts himself back into his undergarments and zips up as the final bell rings. Claire is carefully wiping all of the spunk from between her fingers. He reaches in to his back pocket and fishes out his wallet. He fumbles through it for a moment, as if looking for something. Claire glances up. He hands her a thin white plastic card with a magnetic stripe on one side. On the other side is the number 50.

He's about to leave, when she jolts to her feet. She slams him against the wall and throws the card back in his face, screaming, "What the fuck is _this_! I don't want your fucking credit chip!"

"I-I'm outta cash," he mutters sheepishly, even coloring a little.

She makes an aggravated sound. "I don't have a car," she complains, folding her arms across her chest. "The nearest access point is miles from here," she says a little softer.

"I'll drive you," he shrugs.

"Shit," she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose as she closes her eyes.

"What?" he asks, brow raised in earnest.

"I have to pick up Serah. My sister. She goes to Seaside,"

"Seaside Middle School? I know where it is. Couple blocks from here, right?"

She nods.

"So, we'll pick her up, I'll get you to an access point, and then drive you home, kay?"

She smiles, a slight twitch of her lips. "Thanks…I guess I owe you one then?"

He laughs. "For a job like the one you just gave me? How bout we call it even?"

A full smile breaks out on her face, despite her usually stoic self. "Sure, but next time, bring cash."

"Yeah," he says, rubbing the back of his head where it hit the wall moments ago, "I won't forget,"


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: (wish I had control over this muse... -.- ) N'iway... um, I had to split this up, cause it was getting wayyy too long. So this one and the next ch. were supposed to be one, there's a lot that happens in this particular day, but I just split it so it wouldn't be too demanding of your time. Also, keep in mind, my current _active_ project is Vipers and Devils. I don't know what triggered me to start writing for this one again, but it did. I would say, don't hold out hope for an immediate update. I guess just take it as it goes. I hope you enjoy the update. ;)

-Everything-

Ch. 3: Hung Over

Chronology: Present Day

Pain is the first coherent sensation of the day. Even before emeralds flutter open to life, the pain throbs in her head. Incessant, steady drum beats of marching-band ruthlessness tear through her skull and all she wants to do bash her head against something to make it stop. For a moment, she even truly considers it. The further she awakens, however, some sense of intellect alerts her that this course of action would only further her current agony.

_Hnnngghhh… _a moaning complaint as she draws the thick quilt over her head to shut out the world of the living. _Fal'Cie…someone…just shoot me now._

The migraine isn't the worst of her situation either. Her stomach feels as though some small, furry creature had the misfortune to expire and rot in her gut, poisoning her from the inside out. She knows it isn't so. It's only the over-consumption of alcohol that has poisoned her. And that, she did all on her own. So maybe it's right that she should suffer.

_Nnnnnggg… _she groans as a wave of nausea slams into her with the force of a speeding truck. Her heart beats harder, faster for a moment, then she feels it. The twisting, grueling shudder. The impending, undeniable doom of that inevitable outcome.

The quilt flies off her body as she kicks it away and leans over the side of the bed. Her sick hits the floor with a wet plop, yesterday's food splatters messily onto the carpet below.

She should get up out of bed and clean her own mess. She knows this. But her body is too weak. Her arms have no strength to push herself up. So she reaches over to her nightstand and presses the red button on the intercom. "…James…" she calls wearily.

"Miss Yun?" the familiar voice of her loyal butler floats through the machine to her sensitive ears. She cringes and cups a hand over her exposed ear, the other, she tucks tightly against the pillow.

"I've been sick…again," She feels sheepish and horrid that someone else should have to clean up after her, but on the plus side, she pays him extremely well.

"Yes, Miss Yun. Right away," his voice is softer now, he knows without being told. He's cleaned up after far too many nights like last night.

* * *

The woman known only to her sister as Claire Farron stirs to the steady pounding of a jackhammer outside her bedroom window. "_Hhhnnnggg!" _she grumbles, "_Go away!"_ She disappears back under the blankets, clutching her pillow over her head in a bid to keep out the incessant racket of the construction workers. The jackhammer stops abruptly. For several blessed moments, there is only sweet silence. Claire sighs blissfully, the gentle caress of sleep's pull lulls her most of the way back to the dark, deaf world she desires.

She yelps, bolting upright, her heart nearly beating out of her chest when the jackhammer starts up again. The sudden action is immediately regretted. She grits her teeth against the icepick tearing through her skull, as her brain plays catch-up with her body. Her knees come up to her chest on instinct. Her head crouches down toward them, to shield her from the brightness in her room. "_Serah…"_ she groans miserably.

Soft steps pad along the carpeted hallway and Claire is grateful for the sound-absorbent plush material. A gentle tap announces her baby sister who pokes her head inside the door. "Claire?"

"Nnnngg" the miserable Farron-creature moans in reply to the fermented grapes decomposing in her stomach.

"Claire…?" softly, from the doorway again, "Are you al-"

The over-abundance of wine and other liquors makes a quick and merciless escape from the Farron woman's gut.

"Claire!" The younger Farron rushes over to the bed. She sits beside her older sister and keeps her hair to one side as another wave of vomit hits the floor. "Oh Claire…" she coos sympathetically, "We need to get you to the hospital," she says, rubbing her sister's back.

"Nnnn…" the older Farron replies. She swallows thickly and regrets it, tasting the yuck still on her tongue, "What…what are you…?" she pants. _Still doing here? _She finishes in her head.

The younger woman blushes. "…I didn't want to wake you…"

_SHIT!_

"SHIT!" Lightning yells. It's Serah's first day of high school all over again, at least, in the champagne blonde's mind. Lightning is supposed to go with her to register her for classes and set up a payment plan for her tuition.

"That's right," she mutters, ignoring her nausea, and throwing her legs over the side of the bed. "How could I forget?" she whispers, wondering aloud as she clutches her painful head in her hands.

She is answered immediately, memory flashing in the details for her.

…The brunette. Those strong, dexterous, anxious and desperate hands roaming all over her melting her into a mushpile of tingly shivers. She can't help herself, her voice carries on the night…

Her cheeks tint bright red. The momentary flash now gone, but the lingering memory of the tingles…

A shiver trails teasingly down the path of her spine.

"Ugh!" she scoffs, shaking her head at the involuntary intrusion of her mind by that _woman_.

_!Nnngg! _The pain is immediate. Her regret shortly following.

…_Claire…note to self…No more sudden movement…got it?_

"Yeah," she nods slowly as the pounding in her brain gradually subsides again.

Serah offers a hand, but her sister is reluctant to take it. The younger Farron quietly retracts said hand when her sister proves able to push herself from the bed under her own power.

The pink-haired temptress of Cocoon, that agile seductress, the graceful vixen of fantasy, alluring, the desire of all men-

-tangles in her own feet and comes crashing unattractively to the floor. The room spins violently, taunting her with the privileged knowledge of how much she had to drink the previous night, a sum that even Claire herself is uncertain of, in light of the new evidence.

"Shit!" she yells again, rubbing her aching jaw and shaking the cobwebs from her brain, in a bid to force herself sober. "Go. Get ready," she instructs, gathering her legs under her and pushing herself to her feet. "You're gonna have to drive,"

The younger Farron gives her sister one last pitying glance before rushing out of the room to get her purse and Lightning's car keys. The older Farron, meanwhile, leans against the doorframe with one hand and carefully picks the carpet fuzz from her tongue and teeth with the other.

* * *

"Hmm, hmmm, hm, lalala hm, hm…" A sweet voice hums cheerily. This at least is a voice Fang recognizes as she stumbles her weak and sickened way down the long, quiet hallway. She follows the sound of the voice, a source she knows is her comfort. Someone she's known her whole life, and yet, they've only recently become close. _Vanille…_

Fang's little redheaded shadow is rather happily making breakfast, skipping about the kitchen with an unnatural amount of enthusiasm. "Van…" Fang whispers softly, her tone heavy with pity.

Her miniature personage bounces about the kitchen, tending to the delicious-smelling foods. The dark sleeves adorning her forearms, an obvious mask for the guilt of a survivor. Fang's heart twitches painfully for her cousin, now her sole family.

The little redhead reaches for the skillet, intent on scrambling the eggs that lay frying in it, but her grip falters and she lets out a pained cry. Fang walks over to her side. The younger woman startles at her cousin's firm grip on her shoulders, before she is pulled into a warm, tight embrace.

"_**Fng!" **_she gasps, snuggling affectionately into the taller woman. Fang presses Vanille's head against her, laying her own on top of the ginger's. "_**weh uu na fishnet moo**_"

Fang pulls away. _"What?" _she asks, brow cocked over a jade eye.

Vanille giggles. "I said, "well you're in an affectionate mood!" She gasps. A smile lights her face. "_Omigosh!… _You got _laid _last night!" she squeals, stars sparkling in her eyes as she clasps her hands together in front of her.

Fang scoffs off-handedly and takes a step back. "It wasn't like that.."

"Don't try to lie," Vanille warns, "I can tell… So…who was she? Another rabid fan-girl? Falling all over herself with lust? Oh, I bet she thought she was straight, too! I mean, _before _she met _you_! How can anyone resist the handsome Oerba Yun Fang?" she gloats, brows waggling suggestively as she nudges Fang in the side with an inquisitive elbow.

"No, Bighead," Fang shakes her head, ruffling both hands through Vanille's hair. "And don't try to change the subject." Fang gives the smaller girl a steady, knowing glare and reaches for the skillet. She scrambles the eggs. Vanille blushes and attempts to walk away, turning to go sit at the table. Fang's voice stops her in her tracks.

"You said you wouldn't do it anymore…" Silence rules the air for a beat, then, softer, "Van, …you _promised_,"

Guilt stabs the redhead sharply. "I know," she sighs, ducking her head as she turns back toward the taller woman to plead her case. "I tried! Fang, I really tried this time!" her voice cracks as she begins to choke on the sudden wash of shameful tears strangling her. She sniffles loudly and buries her face in her hands. "…you…weren't there…"

Fang turns off the stove, breakfast forgotten. She strides over to Vanille and grasps the smaller woman in her arms again. Her own guilt assaulting her at Vanille's implication. Last night, while Fang was having the time of her life, the best lay she's ever had, with the most beautiful creature on the Maker's green Cocoon, Vanille was somewhere in this house, doing that awful thing, she'd sworn never to do again. Fang's heart, light upon waking, despite her physical misery, now breaks. It isn't that she's disappointed in Vanille. No, poor little Vanille. Instead, Fang is disappointed in herself. _Maker, I need a drink._ she thinks, squeezing Vanille tighter to her body, the younger crying into her shoulder, whimpering softly, "their faces…"

_No. _Fang asserts in her mind, left hand closing into a resolute fist where it rests against Vanille's back. _No, you're not goin' down that road, again, Van._

"Hey…" Fang opens, pulling slightly away.

Vanille glances up, crystal greens expectant.

"Whatcha got planned for today?"

Vanille tilts her head and dons an inquisitive countenance, cherry brows furrowing, lips pursed to one side of her face "Well… I was supposed to register for classes… but… other than that I'm free all day." Here, she pauses a moment. "Why, Fang?"

The older woman pretends to consider something. Then, after a moment, "Y' wanna come t' work with me today? Check out some new candidates?"

"Sure!" Vanille throws her arms around her cousin and squeezes generously. "It's been so long since we've hung out! Fang, this is gonna be awesome! Thank you so much!"

"Ehhh..Vanille…not so…hard…" Fang wheezes around the growing constriction, as she tries to push the smaller girl away a little bit. Vanille's grip remains tight and true. Sighing in surrender to her squishy fate, Fang gently ruffles a hand through carroty locks.

* * *

A small blue Kia races through the streets. Tires screech a hissing halt at the warning red. The driver and passenger lurch forward and just as suddenly are thrown back. The passenger eyes the driver incredulously.

"Where the _hell'd_ you learn how t' drive?" the woman in the passenger seat demands, clinging tightly to the _oh shit! _handle.

The driver replies with a sheepish smile. "From…you,"

The passenger nods, eyes wide. "Yeah, well… just…be careful…"

The driver glances at the time display the radio. "Shit," she mutters gently. "Hold on!" she warns the passenger and slams the pedal to the ground once the light is green.

* * *

Serah groans helplessly, head buried against her hands that still grip the top of the wheel. Blue lights flash angrily behind them. The police car comes to a halt. "Why me?" the younger Farron moans, utter despair taking her features.

The loudspeakers blare to life from behind. _"Car 448-…" _

Serah's eyes fill with fear as she turns to her sister while the loudspeaker calls out the license number of Claire's car. "What am I gonna do?"

"_-and come to a complete stop. You are ordered to turn off your engine. Repeat. You are order-…"_

Lightning's eyes light up. A gentle twitch takes the corner of her lips. "Switch places,"

Serah looks at her. "Claire, no. You'll get a DUI. It's your third strike, you'll go to _jail_! Do you know what they'd do to…" Serah blushes beet red at the thought, "…what they'd do to someone as pretty as you, in jail!" Serah is insistent on this, she's seen the movies and cop dramas on TV, and she isn't stupid enough to believe that it's _all_ make-believe.

Lightning shakes her head quickly. "Serah," she glances back toward the lone officer who has stepped out of the squad car and is writing down her plate number on his notepad. "We don't have time, just do it. Come on, switch with me"

Serah reluctantly unsnaps her seatbelt buckle and is hauled by the wrist, over her sister's lap, who is quickly and simultaneously moving into the driver's seat. The younger Farron gives a worried sigh and snaps the passenger side seat belt across her body. She glances at her sister. Claire hastily adjusts her… bodily assets, to a more… readily viewable position, by a slip of the shoulder straps of last night's dress. Serah blushes heatedly, when she notices Claire purposefully inching the hem of the dress _higher_ up her thighs. Her blush deepens when her sister spreads her legs slightly.

The sound of the officer's boots on the pavement draws her attention, just as Claire manages to snap her seatbelt in place. The older Farron glances out the window, all smiles for the unsuspecting man. "Good Morning, Officer," she placates toward the man, fluffy pink lashes batting unabashedly, voice holding up a fake, innocent lilt. "Is…something _wrong_…?"

Serah winces at the artificially high pitch to Claire's voice. Her heart sinks at the known signals, all the little not-so-unconscious things her sister is doing to distract the man, to direct his attention elsewhere. Serah has learned all of Claire's little tricks, the tools of her trade, and winces at how easily -almost _automatically_- Claire uses them.

"Do you know how fast you were going, Miss?" the officer demands, leaning slightly on the window.

Lightning gasps, an unusually girly sound coming from her. She looks up at the man, eyes wide, trembling only just so, just a flicker of fear. _There's the hook…_, Serah thinks ruefully, as she continues to watch the shameful display. Lightning touches her chest, a gesture meant, not to show concern, but rather to draw attention to her exposed cleavage, with just a teensy upward push of her hand, to plump. _…Line…_ Now she's going to really lay it on _thick_, Serah knows.

Lightning's face mutates into the most cherubic expression the younger Farron didn't even know was possible. Her older sister looks positively adorable as she chews the thumb of her right hand and twirls her long, curly tresses around the index finger of her right hand. She has the most apologetic sincerity to belie her true intent. "Was I going fast?" she asks in that impossibly high, girlish voice that is not Claire's.

…_beautiful setup…she really is good… _

Lightning's bottom lip trembles precariously.

…_here it comes…_

Her eyes begin to water as her hands -seemingly absent-mindedly- trail down to her thighs, which she -seemingly nervously- spreads apart with her hands on her knees. She repeats the gesture, bowing her legs closed, then open again, as her face begins to crumble. "I'm sorry, Sir," she -seemingly- chokes, "..it's just…" she glances briefly to Serah, then back up at the officer. "This is my sister, she's on scholarship at Bodhum. Otherwise, we can't…can't afford- I - I didn't want her to be late…" she gasps for breath between fake sobs, "be-because of _me_…" Lightning lets go with the flood of crocodile tears.

Serah can't see his eyes behind the dark shades, but his brow creases, his head tilts, the line of his jaw softens.

…_Sinker!…_

The policeman steps back from the car and opens the door for Lightning. His voice is gentle. "Step out of the car, Miss"

Lightning follows along, seemingly playing into his hand, but Serah doesn't miss the quick thumbs-up Lightning throws her behind her back as she exits the car. The pair walk a few feet away, their voices trailing out.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Lightning sobs, " I didn't mean…"

The officer walks her slowly back toward his car, one arm around her, rubbing her shoulder lightly. "I'm sure we can work something out, Miss…"

Serah sighs and watches them in the rear-view mirror. She can't hear them now, but she doesn't need words. The gestures tell enough. Lightning doesn't say much, only looks down and away, rubs her arms conspicuously, but Serah can't tell if she's trying to _look _uncomfortable to the officer… or if she really just _is_ uncomfortable right now.

That's what bothers Serah about all this. Not that her sister is a hooker, she can deal with that, but… does she _really_ like doing it? Or…

_Is she just doing it… for me?_

Serah breaks from her thoughts, eyes drawing back to the rear-view. Lightning now has the officer putty in her manipulative little hands. She leans up on her toes and flirtatiously scrapes the nape of his hairline with her fingers. A few more words are exchanged. Lightning pulls back, but remains flirty, rubbing her hands over the man's shirted chest. The officer reaches into a pocket and quickly pulls out a bill. Lightning discreetly takes it, glancing around to make sure no one else has seen the exchange. A few moments later, they return to the car.

Lightning leans in to the driver's side window. "Don't worry, Serah," she says in her fake girly tone, "I'm going to go talk to the nice officer, so we can work things out. But I don't want you to be late, so you go on ahead while I handle this, and I'll meet up with you later, okay?"

Serah's jaw gapes. "Claire!" she protests loudly.

Lightning silences her with a stern look. " Serah." she warns, voice just a fraction lower, "Let me _handle_ this. I'll meet up with you later, _okay_?"

Serah sighs dejectedly. She unclasps her seatbelt and slides over as her sister and the officer walk back to the squad car. Claire links one of the officer's arms in her own and rubs it in a way that makes Serah shudder to see it. Why does she have to be so _straight _all the time? _Ugh!_

* * *

"Wow, Van…" Fang marvels at the size and prestige of the campus, "Ya really did good with all them books, yeah?" She lets out a slow whistle as she scans the entire scope of the enormous college grounds. "It's sure a beaut," she concedes finally.

Vanille just beams at her and squeezes Fang's arm where it's linked with her own. Fang isn't put off by the touchy-feelyness of her cousin. It's just the way Van is, so she walks arm in arm with her, while all the jealous little college girls make googly eyes at her and then glare daggers at Vanille. Fortunately, Vanille remains blessedly oblivious, chattering away about her choice of classes.

They make their way through the twisting paths, Fang sometimes preferring to cut a short way across the nicely scaped lawn. Nearing the counselor's offices to confirm Vanille's choice of classes, Fang pauses.

Her heart hammers hard at the familiar champagne tresses. Hands sweating, she tries to think of something smooth to say. She opens her mouth, makes her approach.

The woman turns her head slightly. The words die on Fang's tongue.

…_Not …her?_

Fang closes her mouth. She could have sworn…

But now that the young woman is turned closer to her and Vanille, Fang can see for certain that it isn't the same woman from last night. But that particular _color_… Fang has no words to truly describe the shade of light pinkish-somewhere between champagne and lilac, hair.

She studies the new pinkette curiously. The woman is young, perhaps just a freshman, like Vanille, and small. Fang can tell, even with the young woman sitting dejectedly on the steps leading up to the offices, that the she is physically just a tad smaller than Vanille. Her eyes are dark, just a shade darker than Lightning's.

A flash of memory snaps into Fang's mind. Those same eyes staring back at her.

Last night, Midnight:

_Wait…what should I call you…if I wanna call you again..?_

_Lightning. Call me Lightning._

With that, the woman had walked out, and Fang had reached for a bottle, to drown the insistent loneliness that threatened to be her total undoing.

_Etro's Breath, _Fang thinks, shaking her head to clear her thoughts of the other woman. _Why do I need to hold you so bad?_

Even now, she can feel it. A nervous fidgeting of her hands. Usually, in Fang's case, that very same feeling leads to a bottle, but right now, all she can think of is that _woman_. The look in those haunting crystal blue eyes that had broken her heart when Lightning had asked of Fang only tenderness.

Fang has a thought as she studies the pink-haired girl. They must be family, the resemblance is…uncanny. A daughter, perhaps? It isn't _impossible_. The girl looks fairly young and hell, who knows how long that "Lightning" woman has been working the streets? Fang wasn't exactly sober last night, she could have mistaken the woman's age. Fang settles into deep thought, Vanille's chattering at her side nearly forgotten, as she keeps an eye on the young pinkette.

The girl on the steps before the counselor's office lays her chin in her hand, elbow balanced sloppily on a knee. She huffs a slow breath, blowing pink bangs out of her eyes. A few obviously boring moments pass drolly by her notice, before she checks the watch on her left wrist. With another sighing huff, she rolls her eyes and reaches into the small purse at her side. A quick hunt produces a small pink cell phone decorated in fake candy rhinestones, pink and white, of course. The girl flips the phone open, starts to dial, then shuts the phone and stands up, hands on her hips, attention drawn to the distance behind Fang and to the right.

A Bodhum Police cruiser lulls in the student parking lot, engine humming idly. Fang spares a glance back at the freshman. The girl's jaw is set tight, hand still on that slender hip, opposite foot tapping impatiently. Obviously upset.

The clacking of purposeful heels on concrete draws her attention back to the focus of the freshman's attention. Déjà vu hits Fang as she realizes, she recognizes those heels. And the legs that belong to them. The dress. That figure. Champagne tresses. Those eyes.

Fang is caught, dumbfounded, the proverbial deer-in-headlights as Lightning makes her approach to the younger version of herself. She further finds herself wondering when the younger "Lightning" makes her complaint vocal to her Lightning.

_My Lightning_. Hands fidgetting, fingers fumbling for something to grasp, Fang can feel herself smile stupidly. Her Lightning. She likes the sound of that.

"Ooofff!" Fang is caught off-guard by an elbow to the side, from an equally oblivious redhead.

"Fang look! She's… so beautiful…" Vanille murmurs, voice gone soft and hazy.

Fang glances over to her pink-haired goddess, "Yeah…" Fang likewise trails, "…she is…"

Vanille turns on Fang, eyes dangerous in all sincerity. "Don't you _dare_, Fang. She's mine! I saw her first!"

Cousin sufficiently warned, the redhead takes off, sprinting toward the pink goddess and her daughter(?) figure. Fang jogs behind, unsure what she's going to say to Lighting when she gets there, already trying to think up an apology for her over-enthused cousin.

"Um, hi," Vanille starts, blushing slightly as the two pinkettes turn around at the same time, "Are you like, new around here?" the blush crawls further up the redhead's neck, heating up her face and ears.

Fang catches up, huffing gently, lips curled apologetically at Lightning. Lightning's attention breaks from Vanille. Ice blue eyes glance over Fang, then narrow slightly.

"No," Serah replies, "We live here," she openly admits.

"Oh!" Vanille nods, "Well, I'm new, um, kinda. I just moved here a few months back, with my cousin. I'm Vanille by the way," she says, sticking out an expectant hand.

"Serah," the younger pinkette replies.

Vanille tilts her head, "So, what classes are you taking?"

While this is going on, Lightning stalks over to last night's job and pulls her aside, out of earshot of the youngers.

"What are you doing here?" she hisses.

The brunette has the gall to look slightly confused as she runs a nervous hand through her thick, dark mane. "Uh, registering my cousin?" she says, turning the statement into a question at the end.

"Cousin?" Lightning echoes.

The brunette points back the way they came, to the redhead conversing merrily with Lighting's sister. "Vanille. She's talkin to your… uh…your…" _Please don't be her daughter. That would be really awkward. My cousin has a crush on your daughter. Yeah, extremely awkward. Especially after last night. _"…your…" Fang spares the younger pinkette another glance. The answer mercifully presents itself. The resemblance between the two is uncanny. A daughter would mean they only shared half of their DNA, through Lightning, but the other girl looked far too much like Lightning. Much more so than an offspring would. As if they had both the same mother _and_ father.

"…your…_sister_…?"

Lighting eyes the brunette, suspicious. "Are you stalking me?"

The brunette gives a snort and a chuckle, "Am I what?"

"Stalking me." Lightning reiterates, unamused.

The brunette furrows a brow. "Now why would I wanna do that?"

Lightning's eyes narrow. The hangover migraine is doing it's best to make her an irritable bitch, and she does little to actively fight it. "What do you want from me? And how'd you know she's my sister?" she demands.

Fang blushes hands fidgeting nervously at her sides. "I just…wanted to talk…and you, well, you just told me."

Lightning eyes the brunette a moment longer, sizing her up, weighing the honesty of her words. After a few grueling moments of harsh scrutiny under those intense crystalline eyes, Fang is released from their hold. Lightning glances away, down at the ground. Her voice is lower, nearly a whisper.

"Listen, I'm not-" _gay_, is what she wants to say. To assure the other woman, that last night was-_is_-just a job. It's just work, to a girl like Lightning. She finds she can't bring herself to say it. _Don't fuck up a good thing, Light_, she warns herself. Instead,

"I don't see clients, _outside_ of work,"

Realization dawns in the emerald gems in front of her. "Ah…_discretion_. I get it," the brunette shrugs one shoulder, smiling openly at Lightning. She frowns slightly, a minute darkening of the eyes, a slight tensity to her features. She closes the gap between them and takes Lightning's hand in her own, gently caresses her thumb over Lightning's knuckles.

"What if I wanna see you again?" she whispers quietly.

Lightning swallows past a sudden thick sensation in her throat. Just that one touch, that simple tone in the other woman's voice is enough to summon a tittering swarm of flutterbys to her abdomen. Her defense is weak, but she throws it up anyway, a last resort.

"I don't even know your name,"

The other woman smiles disarmingly. "Fang. Call me Fang," she says, a gentle smirk playing at her mouth.

Lightning seems to break from her thoughts. She digs around in her purse and pulls out a pen and a scrap of paper. She jots down a number and hands the scrap to Fang.

"If you need me again, just page me."

Fang smiles confidently back at her. "I will."

Lightning nods politely and walks back to her sister. She arches one brow at the sight of Vanille and Serah, all four hands linked tightly, chattering away like they've known each other forever. Lightning rolls her eyes and lets out a soft sigh. _Always knew she was too trusting._

"Come on, Serah," she says, taking the younger Farron's arm. Serah, caught by surprise, squeaks.

"Bye Vanille!" she calls affectionately, "See you tomorrow?"

"For sure!," Vanille calls back, waving. She turns at Fang's presence. "Oh, hi Fang!"

"Hey Bighead," Fang chuckles, running her hands through Vanille's orange bangs, "who ya got there?" she inclines her head toward the retreating pinkettes, the smaller of which keeps glancing back and waving in their direction, a slight blush on her cheeks.

"Oh, that's Serah. She's my new BFF! She's so smart, Fang! And Etro! Just … beautiful! Isn't she _amazing_, Fang?"

Fang just chuckles. "Someone's-got-a-_cruuush_…" she teases in a songlike tone, while poking the redhead in her sides. Vanille thrusts out an arm and tags Fang in the stomach.

"Oh, grow up, Fang," she dismisses, "I haven't got a crush."

Fang raises an eyebrow. "Oh, no? Cuz ya seem pretty crushed there to me,"

Vanille crosses her arms in front of her. "I'm _in love_, Fang. There's a difference!"

"Oh…really…?" Fang humors her cousin good-naturedly as they walk toward the guidance counselor's office.

* * *

"Serah, you know I don't like you talking to strangers," Lightning warns as they sit quietly in the guidance counselor's office waiting for the guidance counselor to finish with Serah's paperwork.

"She's not a stranger, Claire. Her name's Vanille. And she's so amazing, Claire! Did you know she's taking almost all the same classes I am? She's sooo smart! Maybe she can help me with the subjects I don't quite get." Serah lets out a soft sigh that sounds just a little too affectionate for Lightning's comfort.

"Oh…Claire…" she says with another soft sigh, as she clutches one hand to her heart "… is this what _Love _feels like?"

Lightning buries her head in her hands. The irony isn't lost on her. She thinks, _Why are you asking me? Like I would know?_


	4. Chapter 4

-Everything-

Ch. 4: Working Girl

Chronology: Six years ago

A sick feeling churns the pit of her stomach, as she stares at the girl in the mirror. She has to do this. Has to. There is no other option. She wishes there was. But _wishes_, don't put _food_ on her table. _Wishes_, don't buy Serah new _clothes_ when she outgrows her old ones. So she swallows down the twisting knots of fear and self-loathing that rise like the familiar taste of bile in her throat, and carefully applies Rubi-Red no. 2, a bright, garish hue, to her lips, smudging the color around evenly by smacking her lips together.

She pulls back a little and purses her lips at the mirror. Her eyes don't move from the make-upped, reflected version of herself as she reaches down to the bathroom counter for the little eyelining pencil. After thickening the lines around her eyes, she accentuates this with silver powder on her eyelids. A faint hint of rouge to highlight her cheekbones, perhaps a hint too dark for her fair complexion, but she isn't too worried about the details. The goal is to attract attention, after all.

Is enough of her stomach showing? She turns attention now to her outfit, her former Bodhum High cheer uniform, a high-cut, long-sleeved top, white across the chest with red sleeves, and matching red mini-skirt. She's already made sure to carefully remove the giant red "B" and "H" embroidered on the front, and the letters that once spelled her surname across the back.

She pulls another half-inch of the top up and tucks it in under her bra. Next, she folds the waistband of the skirt over once more, exposing her legs another inch or so- and there isn't much left to go anymore. She can now feel a definitive draft against her bottom since using the knife Serah had given her for her birthday two weeks ago to remove the previously built-in modesty-shorts.

She briefly debates a pair of her mother's heels, but that… just feels wrong, and the point isn't to look grown-up, is it? So she leaves on the crisp white ankle socks and pristine white sneakers. Heart thundering in her chest, she picks up the tiny purse on the counter, slings the spaghetti-thin strap over her shoulder, and touches a trembling hand to the cold, indifferent doorknob.

It's a struggle to get the accursed thing open. She twists this way, then that, then jiggles the handle, and slams her shoulder into the door, and finally, she's let out of the bathroom. She huffs, aggravated now, disgusted with this decrepit place that rots around her, and convinced, peering down the hall, toward Serah's room, that her little sister deserves better.

She's going to make it better. Serah deserves more. So she swallows down the fluttering nervousness that makes her feel like her entire body is trying to jump out of her skin. She crosses quietly to the front door, and pauses, a hand on the knob.

"..Ser..?" she calls, wincing at the omission of truth, "…I'm going out…I'll be back in a couple of hours…"

Well, at least she hasn't lied.

Her sister's faint reply from the other room reaches her ears, "Ooo! Get me a Choco-Bar on the way back!" Then, a moment later, "Please?"

She smiles wistfully, briefly jealous of her sister's innocence, though that feeling drifts away, quickly replaced by a fierce wish to protect the naivety in that familiar, beloved voice.

"Yeah…Don't forget your homework!," she shouts back, with a bit more emphasis.

"Uuuhhhgh…" comes the complaint, "…Fine…" then the concession.

She turns the handle and lingers a moment more. She wants to say something. To tell Serah how much she loves her and that she'll do anything -anything- to get her out of this low-tech dump in the inner bowels of the city. She'll go out every night if she has to. They can live by the beach again…in Bodhum, where they grew up…

She clenches a fist. She'll just have to work as hard as she can, to make that dream come true. She can't wait to see Serah's face when she tells her that they get to go back home. She takes a breath to say it, _I love you_, but something else comes out.

"Behave… and no friends over while I'm gone!"

"Yeah, yeah… go already! The sooner you get back, the quicker I can have my Choco-Bar!"

It isn't that she doesn't like Serah's friends. Her home is her castle, though, and even though the building is decrepit and falling apart, it feels like a violation, when there are strangers in it, without her knowledge. These are the four walls and roof that she, herself, with the help of no one else, has kept over both their heads for two solid months. This crumbling old façade is her sanctuary. Claire takes a breath, and for the last time, leaves her home, an innocent, teen-aged girl.

* * *

Outside, she makes quick strides, putting distance between herself and the temporary home she's made for Serah, as fast as she can. Dusk descends over the city, shrouding the ancient buildings of this slum-town in forlorn shades of despair that have come to feel familiar to her… in awkward sense, a sense of cloying desperation, that will, inevitably suck away at her soul until it has fully consumed the life from her body.

She's nearing the red-light district and confirms the inevitability of her certain fate in the eyes of the other street-walkers, drained, lifeless, the living undead. One of them turns to regard her with an arched brow. A haggard-looking woman in her thirties, -though she guesses the woman is likely still in her twenties- smoking a long cigarette, her hair dyed so many times, there's no telling what her original color once was, the faint lines on her face, covered in a thick layer of powder that doesn't match her skin tone. The -currently- blonde scans her over with empty brown eyes. The artificial-blonde's gaudy-colored lips turn downward.

"Scram, bitch!" comes the hostile warning. The blonde spits and flicks her cigarette butt toward her. "This'z our corner!"

At the command, the blonde's two friends whirl toward her, grimacing threateningly. She adjusts her purse-strap and looks down at the concrete, concentrating on her forward steps, forcing her eyes away from the vinyl-and-fishnet-clad street-hags, that she prays she doesn't become. Her heart pounds in her ears as she passes them by, their hurled insults each like a tiny dagger in her skin. She tries not to flinch. She's terrified, but she manages to walk by the whores without a confrontation.

Of course, they could always jump her from behind. That thought doesn't help settle her hyper-pumping heart. She has her knife. Briefly contemplates using it. But going to jail for assault with a deadly weapon is not an option. It would mean a forced adoption for Serah, who's still underage. She keeps her head down and her mouth shut, ignoring the invectives still being launched her way. Her heart's still fluttering a block away, the last of the adrenaline leaving her body as the danger is finally passed.

She's coming to the intersection of Beoulve Way and Hyral Street. The infamous underbelly of this Maker-forsaken city. A trio of suspicious youths lounge near a public transit bench across the way. They're brash, loud, but otherwise minding their own business, and they seem to pay no heed to her. In fact, they seem to pay no heed to anything besides the drugs they're passing around, and the booming box-radio that's blasting some awful song with more curse words than actual lyrics. A shop keeper emerges from the front door of his pastry business and carefully locks the door before heading to where his low-tech car is parked nearby. An abandoned dog barks at a young couple passing by, as if accusing them for its unkempt, mangy coat and clearly visible ribs.

She settles near a street lamp, bringing her steps to a stop. She surveys her surroundings with a quick glance in either direction. The dilapidated edifices stand their ground against the ever-wearing test of time, though she wonders how. Time beats a slow pace while her mind pre-occupies another dimension, half-wishing there was something else. Anything else. But she's either too young, or too inexperienced. Not having graduated school certainly doesn't help her situation.

Time is running out. _Gil _is running out. Specifically, the tiny amount of gil the late Mr. and Mrs. Farron had just started to save in a banking account for their eldest daughter's college expenses. She had tried to buy herself some time. A smaller, cheaper place, closer to the centers of commerce generally means less expenditures. It's been several months already, two since they moved from Bodhum, and still, no job. The current recession is the most likely culprit. _Everyone_'s running out of gil.

She's still ruminating the causes and possible other solutions to her problems, when a low-tech, black car, a Balamb S.E.E.D. pulls up to the curb and parks, engine idling. She snaps from her reverie. The driver, a middle-aged man with flecks of pepper in his sandy-brown hair, motions her over. She slowly advances forward a few steps. She has to bend forward slightly, as the man leans over and rolls down the passenger-side window.

"Hi," he greets eagerly.

"Hi," she responds, a bit flatly, unsure of what else to say.

"It's a bit late to be out, isn't it? In this kind of neighborhood…"

She blinks. She hadn't expected that. Was he really concerned about her. Why? She's about to ask, when he continues.

"You need a ride…? Somewhere..?"

He's smiling an all-too-knowing smile, and suddenly, she connects the dots. Her throat dries up. He's really propositioning her. Subtle, but the glow in his eyes confirms it. She opens her mouth.

"Sorry, John. Not interested. Now why don't you leave, before I call the cops for propositioning a minor?"

The voice isn't hers, and there's a look of terror on the guy's face just before he peels away. She turns around and eyes a young, dark-haired woman, who's smiling kindly at her. She frowns at the brunette. Whoever this bitch is, she just cost her her first customer of the night.

"Sorry bout that, hon," the brunette says, " but you can do better. Much better, trust me,"

She arches an eyebrow at the stranger. "Trust you?" Then, as quickly as the words have left her mouth, more follow, questioning. "Why should I?" Her eyes scrutinize the brunette further.

She's wearing a white top with long, loose sleeves. Her cleavage is clearly visible, squished up in a purple bra-kini fitted tightly to the outside of the top and tied around the neck and in the back with a gold colored bit of string. The rest of the white top lays open, only the last button put to any functional use. Below the waist, she wears even less, if that's possible. Skimpy hot-shorts and a side-skirt-pouch barely make an illusion of covering her modesty. Long, dark stockings that reach up to mid-thigh, trimmed in two inches of lace at the top, do the job her shorts can't in providing cover for her legs. Essentially, what appear to be garter stockings, without the belt. Red, strappy, chunky-heels complete the look.

The brunette's dressed every bit the part as trampy as the other hookers, but there's something different. There's a light in her eyes. She hasn't been touched by the same inevitability of futile despair.

Her eyes travel from the floor, back up to the dairk-haired woman's deceptively young face. Blue eyes widen as she notices the large, long rifle propped against the lamp-post. The brunette notices her shock and pats the rifle, then picks it up and slings it over a shoulder, throwing the pinkette a cocky wink. "Oh, don't mind this," she says, "it's just to keep the riff-raff away from my front door,"

At the blank expression Claire can feel frozen on her face, the brunette steps aside, revealing a doorway, above which a large neon sign glows beacon-like in the apathy of this pitch-dark night. _LeBreau's_.

The brunette pushes the door open, leaning in the doorway and nods, indicating Claire to venture inside.

"C'mon, I'll getcha something to drink. You look like you could use it,"

Inside it's dusky, smoke-ridden. The air lingers heavy with the scent of strong spirits. A hundred conversations mingle at once, each patron attempting to be heard over the unconscionably loud sampling of the latest in popular music. The brunette woman settles herself behind the bar, looking comfortable there suddenly, like she was born to it.

She pours something clear into a clean glass from a long-hosed handle, then slides the drink over to her pink-haired guest. The girl in question eyes the glass warily, carefully sniffs it, then glares at it some more.

"Don't worry, sweetie. It's just water. I'm not dumb enough to get the law called on this place,"

Claire takes a small sip from the glass, but doesn't swallow right away. She lets the cool liquid linger on her tongue as she sets the glass down, still holding it in one hand, her thumb idly plays along the rim. She's not seeing the brunette anymore.

A hand comes into her field of vision to rest lightly on her own. "What's on your mind, hon?"

Claire startles. The brunette woman questions her with jet-dark eyes that show more than a touch of pity. Right now, all she wants is to deny necessity. She just wants to go home. To turn around and run back to Serah. She almost does. The brunette's next words are what stop her.

"You weren't really gonna go through with that? Right?"

Because her only valid response is:

"I don't have a choice,"

Claire thanks the woman for the water and walks out into the night.

"Wait!"

The bartender grabs her wrist, stopping Claire in her tracks. They linger in the doorway of the bar for a moment.

Claire is dumbfounded, shocked, and grateful, all at once, a flood of relief washing over her immediately.

"Uptown,"

"What?"

The smiling brunette repeats herself. "You need to take your gorgeous ass uptown, hon. Don't waste your time here. Felix Heights. The money's much better, trust me, sweetie"

Claire stares blankly as the brunette waves her off.

"Take care of yourself, hon. Come on back when you're drinkin' age"

She blinks a few times as the older woman walks back into the bar. She half-expected a little more protest. Had half-expected… what?

_Someone to care._

She swallows thickly, turning slowly on her heels.

She breaks into a full run, lungs about to explode, but it's better than the pressure in her throat, behind her eyes. The pain in her chest is better right now than the tight grit of her teeth to keep her trembling lips closed, to keep the helpless sobs from escaping.

So much for expectations.

* * *

She's panting and nearly out of breath now, but finally here. There's no official sign-post to let her know that she has now crossed over into rich-town, but she can tell by the nicer, newer homes. Two or three hover cars in each drive. Meticulously manicured lawns. Beautifully kept community parks.

She walks around for nearly another hour, watching everything that reminds her so much of home. Her old home, in the upper middle class area of Bodhum. She walks, and she watches, not really seeing any of it. She doesn't realize she's walking in circles.

"Excuse me, Miss?"

She glances behind to see a somewhat-youngish man staring expectantly at her from safe inside his fancy hover vehicle. He looks studious, with his crisp, clean suit, small glasses, and thin tie. His hair is an ashy shade of blonde.

"I couldn't help but notice… you seem a bit lost,"

"I - I think.. I am," she states rather awkwardly.

"What are you looking for?" the helpful-seeming man offers, "I might know where it is."

She wants to mentally face palm. She can't believe she's actually going to say such a cliché' thing. She clears her throat in an attempt to lower her voice to a husked whisper and approaches closer to the vehicle.

"A good time. Know where I can find one?,"

It takes him a moment. Then the lustful gleam staring back at her as he licks his lips tells her he certainly gets her drift.

"I know where that is. I can take you there, if you want."

She opens the passenger door and climbs into the seat. He starts to fly off , and just like that, it's done. There's no turning back for her now.

She stares out the window, not focusing on anything as the upper-class portion of the city passes by below them.

He doesn't make small talk, just navigates the hover vehicle. Time ticks by at a snail's trace. They pull into a fatefully dark alley behind a row of what would be brightly lit shops during daylight hours. He turns off the ignition and the levi-vehicle's turbines hum softly as they slowly wind down and the vehicle settles into a parked position.

He wastes no time, un-belting his safety buckle and reaching for his wallet.

"So..miss…?"

A storm quietly brews off in the distance. A flash out of the window catches the corner of her eye.

"It's..Lightning"

He smiles. "Interesting…" flashing a wad of cash , " and how much would I owe my stormy little mistress for this good time?"

How much? She doesn't know. Hasn't really thought of that. Rent is due. The cupboards are bare. She doesn't know the going rate for this sort of thing. Half-way wishes she'd asked the older street-tramps, -or maybe the kind bartender-

He's waiting for an answer.

"Five hundred," she mutters quickly.

His fingers thumb through and count out the amount. He hands it over and she stuffs it into her purse.

"Now…"

* * *

She comes to in the middle of it, not really recalling how any of it started. They're in the back of the vehicle. He's panting above her, sweat dripping down onto her bare chest. There's teeth marks on her breasts. Her skirt is pulled up, underwear nowhere to be found. Her legs are spread so wide. It hurts when he thrusts. His hips dig into her thighs, driving it far too deep.

Her eyes sting. Her throat is raw. Was she crying? Did she scream? She makes the mistake of looking into his eyes and sees only empty abandon, carnal animal nature staring back at her.

"F-fuck!" he gasps, "You're so.. Maker-damned…tight.."

He pounds faster now. She grits her teeth against the onslaught. She just wants it to be over. He pulls her closer to him, adjusting the angle. Now she gasps with each new entry.

His grin is sadistic. Shock, more than anger hits her when the first slap lands.

"Wh-what..?" she chokes out between gasps.

"Come on.." he coaxes, eyes gone completely demonic, "Scream for me.."

She doesn't quite understand.

Another slap, harder this time.

The shock of her reality in this moment begins to finally coalesce. Shock, and fear.

And _that's_ what he wants. _That's_ what he's after… She can see it now, in his evil, wicked grin.

"Cum for me, you horny little whore.."

Another slap.

"Stop-it.." She fights back, reflexively, puts her arms up to protect herself.

He only snorts, and pins both arms above her head at the wrists. He leans in, smiling.

"Come on, baby. How 'bout a kiss?"

She yelps, making a disgusted sound as she turns her head away. She hears him chuckle as he thrusts harder and bites into her jaw instead. She closes her eyes. Why is this happening?

_Cause, you're a who_-NO! It's only for Serah…

Serah…

Lightning opens her eyes, which fall on the man's wallet, splayed open to a picture of a woman and a boy. The woman is also ash-blonde, mid-to-late 20s, the boy, around 8 or so. Suddenly, she understands.

This is what he cannot do, to _her._ It's in him. No doubt. Irrevocable, like a terminal disease. But instead of stealing it from the innocent, he borrows it -pays for it- from women like herself.

Street-walkers like Lightning Farron.

He groans finally, one long, desperate sound, then lies still above.

Lightning hasn't noticed most of the further blows, or the numbness creeping its way into her face, the swelling that's already starting. Her eyes focus only on the other thing in his wallet, opposite the picture. A photo ID card from his workplace. She knows the devil now.

His name is B. Estheim.

The rest is like a Vid-disc on fast forward. Numb sensation as she finds her clothes and dresses, gathers her money, pukes outside the vehicle, and starts to walk away. Everything is numb in her now, but for the dull ache where her innocence once existed.

Aimlessly, Lightning wanders, clutching her purse tightly.

Rent is due.

The cupboards are bare.

She can make a partial payment tomorrow and buy some groceries to last till the end of the week. A slight smile begins to twitch at her lips. She's made it. She's survived and now Serah will have shelter over her head, food in her belly.

She's quiet when she enters the apartment. As quiet as she can be after struggling with the Maker-damned low-tech lock again. It's dark inside, except for the dim glow of Serah's nightlight coming from under the door to her bedroom.

Lightning sets her keys and purse down on the kitchenette counter/bar/living room divider. Her heart thumps when Serah's bedroom light flicks on.

"Claire..?" sleepy-voiced concern, " Are you back? What took so long? Do you know what time it is?"

An innocent accusation, assaulting what's left of the girl who once used that name. Lightning bolts for the bathroom, slams the door shut behind her and locks it.

Here, in the mirror, she can see the horror of what really happened. It hasn't felt as bad as it looks to her… until now. Now the aches come, the numbness fades.

Serah knocks gently on the bathroom door. "Claire..? Did you get my choco-bar?"

That's it. The final straw.

What a horrible sister she is. She didn't even remember to get it.

The final tears wept by Claire Farron fall silently onto gaudy, green tiles.


	5. Chapter 5

-Everything-

Ch. 5: Desperation

Chronology: Present

"Be ready for the _next_ fight!" the blonde exclaims, too much enthusiasm playing in her tone. She poses, hand on her hip, and even that, looks… faked. Fang lets out a heavy sigh. It's been a long day. At her side, in the executive producer's chair, Vanille winces.

"Wow, she's…really _bad_, huh?"

Fang buries her face in her hand, slouched in her director's chair. She makes an indiscernible sound of agony. "Where do these people come from?" she wonders aloud. " I did say I needed _actors_, didn't I?"

Vanille shrugs helplessly, lips quirking downward.

Fang sighs, brings the megaphone to her lips and depresses the button. "Thank you…Miss…uh…" she glances down at the headshot and profile on the little tray table beside her, "…Miss Nabaat.."

The blonde woman walks over as Fang calls out the end of the day to her crew, through the loudspeaker.

"Did I get the part?" the blonde woman asks, expectantly confident in a way that makes Fang physically sicker than she felt this morning.

Fang thinks up a quick lie. "I've got some comparisons to do, but…you had a good day,"

The blonde nods and walks away. Fang shouts to be heard, cupping both hands around her mouth, "Don't call us…We'll call you."

Fang leans back in her chair, flopping over it, exaggeratedly. "Ugh! What a day…"

Vanille helpfully rummages through the immense stacks of headshots on the tray table next to her seat. "What about _her_? She was the best one today," the redhead offers, handing Fang a headshot of the perky, tanned brunette woman.

Fang shakes her head. "That's not sayin' much, Van, but…" she takes a harder look at the headshot, flicks the page over to the back. There's only one name in bold print. LeBreau. Fang sighs and hands the picture back to her cousin. "I suppose I could work out a minor role for her," Fang shakes her head negatively, "she's no star though, too…bouncy. I need someone tough. Tough as nails."

She lets out a frustrated groan. "If I just had a _lead_! Production's already a week behind schedule!"

Vanille pats her shoulder in an effort to soothe. Fang glances at her, eyes filled with an unfamiliar look. She looks, lost.

"We're goin' under.." she nearly whispers.

"What?!" Vanille near-about barks in surprise. The studio, Square Enix, is the only part of the Yun Fortune -minus a small trust that her parents had left her- that hasn't been taken out from under Fang after all the lawsuits resulting from the Dia Labs fiasco. The way Vanille sees it, it isn't fair.

The law's the law, though, and that means any surviving relatives of such a disaster has to pay the resulting fines and settlements to the people who lose their loved ones. It might not be fair, but that's the way it is.

"Ya heard me," Fang's tone is low. She sighs, putting a hand to her forehead. "This one's really make or break for us. We can't afford to start another project. The money just ain't there. If we can't make another hit… it's over…,"

Vanille, awed by the sudden admission, can only whisper, "What are we gonna do?"

Fang blows a defeated raspberry, both hands slapping, then sliding down her face. After a moment to herself, she sits up and smiles at her cousin. "Well, right now… how about a steak lunch? I'm starving!"

Vanille looks at her watch. "It's almost supper!" she giggles.

Fang's reply grin is wide, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Vanille can almost see the drool forming in her mouth. "All the more reason," she affirms.

Fang stands and stretches, pausing at the height of the tension, that moment just before the blissful release of it. She sighs, resigned to her fate. No better time than the present to piss away what's left of her once-vast fortune. Vanille picks up the pile of headshots, thinking maybe there's a way out of this, if they just put both of their heads together. She grabs up her sweater and follows Fang out the exit door into the bright afternoon sun.

* * *

The guidance counselor's smile is warm and genuine, "If you'll just sign here," she says, pointing to the appropriate line on the form that requires a signature, "initial here, here, and here…"

Claire takes the form and pen and signs her legal name down as co-signer and guarantor for her sister, scribbling her initials hastily afterward. The guidance counselor turns to Serah.

"Well, Ms. Farron," she says with a hint of a smile to her tone, "Welcome to Eden University. Good Luck with your classes. If you ever need me, you know where my office is,"

The same old shpiel she's probably given hundreds of thousands of times over during her tenure. Lightning clears her throat, reaching for her purse, "So, do I pay you now…or,"

"Oh, no, Ms. Farron," the counselor cuts her off, putting her hand up and shaking her head, "It doesn't work that way. You'll get a regular bill each month, on the 16th, thats payable by cheque, which you can mail, or you can pay it online by credit chip account."

Claire's headache which had been abating, begins to return. She has the gil in cold, hard cash in her purse, right here and now, Serah's tuition for the entire year! Can't these assholes just take the money and be done with it? Why does everything have to be so complicated?

The answer comes to mind quickly, a nagging reminder of the way things are in the real world, the world that doesn't consist of cash payments and shady dealings behind closed doors and in dark alleys. _Because the bank has to make their fees too._ Which means the loan is going to cost her a lot more than the thirty thousand gil in her purse, over the course of it, naturally. And of course there's books and supplies and class fees she hasn't even started to count.

The pounding in her head worsens, feeling like a train rumbling up the track of her neck, rattling her brain with knife-edge vibrations. She unconsciously massages temples trying to make the pain lessen if only a bit for the moment. "Are we done here?" she asks of the counselor.

The woman turns from a counter beside her desk where papers are being printed out and she stacks them neatly and hands them to Serah. "Here are your copies to keep," She turns to Claire. "Yes, that's all we need,"

Claire doesn't wait any longer. She's up and out the door before either of the other women in the room can blink an eye. Serah quickly thanks the guidance counselor, grabbing the papers before she follows her sister out the door.

There's a familiar pair of faces in the hallway, coming toward them as they're walking past, but Claire pays them no mind at all, her mind probably elsewhere as she shoves past them. Serah hurries to catch up to her, waving to Vanille and glancing back over her shoulder, mouthing and miming the gesture for Vanille to call her later tonight. The redhead smiles and nods, she will, and bids her crush goodbye with a wave.

* * *

There's one last stop before home, the bank. Which one? The only one in town. The biggest national conglomerate that's run all the other smaller banks out of business, the one and only, First Sanctum Bank of Cocoon. Serah waits in one of the comfy sofas provided in the lobby, mogbuds settled firmly in her ears blasting away her eardrums with the latest techno-pop band, texting Vanille while her sister stands in line. There aren't many at this hour just a few people cashing in their weekly paychecks and a little old woman disputing a charge on her account.

She's up next. She walks over to the bank teller, a happy looking woman in her mid-thirties, wearing a wedding ring on one hand. There's a framed picture of a small boy on her kiosk shelf. "Welcome Ma'am, how may we help you today?" is the polite greeting she gives off accompanied by the customary warm smile.

"My name is Claire Farron. I'd like to open a credit chip account," Lightning confers.

"Ah, I see. If you would just have a seat right over there," she gestures, pointing to a few empty chairs off to one side of the lobby, cordoned off on three sides by a perimeter of aluminum poles that are attached to each other with a cord of woven rope as thick around as her forearm. "Someone will be right with you," the teller finishes. She hits a button on the array behind her and it blinks, though no sound is made, as she quickly types some information into the datalog computer. The teller calls the next person in line up to the kiosk.

She strides over to the chairs and sits, wondering how long she'll have to wait listening to the quiet elevator muzak that chimes throughout the lobby. It isn't as long as she thinks. A door opens in the far wall and a be-suited and bespectacled woman walks toward her with purposeful strides. "Ms. Farron?" she asks. Claire responds with an inquisitive arch of her brows. "Right this way, please," the woman instructs and she follows her down a short corridor, into a tiny room with large windows and a glass door.

The woman shuts the door until its open just a crack and gestures with a hand for Claire to take a seat in one of the two in front of the desk. She complies, holding her purse in her lap. The woman settles into the chair behind the desk and boots up a small datalog computer. She adjusts her glasses and then regards Claire.

"I understand you're here to open an account?"

"Yes." she confirms.

"Well that's wonderful, just a moment for this thing to boot up…ah, here we are. Let's get started. Who is the primary account holder?"

"What?" Claire asks, caught off-guard by the technical jargon.

"What is your name?" the woman clarifies. "It _is _going to be your account, correct?"

"Yes," she nods, "Oh, and Serah too," she adds, thinking she might need it for school on occasion.

The woman adjusts her glasses again and gives Claire an expectant look. "I'll need your names."

"Claire Farron. With two "R"s. Serah's my sister."

"Her surname?"

"Also Farron."

She watches as the woman types down her every word.

"What is the address of your primary residence?"

Shit. They've just moved. She thinks for a moment, wracking her brain and kicking herself for forgetting the lease agreement this morning in her rush to leave. The new place isn't quite as bad of a dump as where they were before. Its a little closer to the suburbs. She can almost see the street sign, the construction going on two houses down from her newly rented one. Duo…..?

"Duodecim. 2236 Duodecim Road."

The woman inputs her response. "In what city?"

"Bodhum,"

_Barely_. Just within the limits, but it is, according to the mailing address. Its not quite where in Bodhum she'd like to be living, but…

"And what type of dwelling is this? Single-family? Apartment? Multi-?"

"Single family,"

"Okay. I'll need a phone number where you can be reached."

She gives it and the woman types it in to her datalog.

"And…work status," the woman behind the desk says. "What is your occupation?" she asks.

Claire pauses. She needs to tell the woman something. If it appears on paper that she doesn't have a job, then so much for trying to get an account. Shit. She opens her mouth to speak, the action taking place just a moment later.

"I'm…self-employed," she says, hoping the omission is enough. Besides, it isn't anyone's business, they just want to know that she is indeed employed. It isn't a lie, either, there's always someone looking to pay her for her services, all she has to ever do is find them.

"Okay. What is the nature of your employment? What do you do, Ms. Farron?"

Claire is caught, struck-dumb. This is exactly the line of questioning she had hoped to avoid. "I…I-work…by contract," she stammers, managing through another evasion.

"What would you classify your work activities as?"

_Lewd conduct? _She face palms.

"How would you categorize your work?"

She still hasn't said anything to the woman's probing questions. There's an uncomfortable silence.

"Ms. Farron?"

Lightning slides the hand she's hiding behind down over her mouth and holds it here, muttering something between her fingers.

"I'm sorry?"

"Sex worker,"

"Wha-?" The woman's eyes widen behind her frames. Its her turn to be caught off-guard.

"I'm a whore, okay?" Lightning looks straight into the woman's eyes, her own narrowing as she says it, daring the other woman to say anything about it.

The woman just smiles awkwardly and gives a nervous laugh, the pitch too high. "So…contract-work. We'll just put that down as 'Service Industry' under 'Private Services' ."

Lightning face-palms again. "That's what I do," she confirms with a dry tone, "Private services."

* * *

After the ordeal at the bank, Claire's just glad to finally make it home. She drops everything on the coffee table in the living room and heads for the bathroom, mind intent on the only thing that will soothe her now, a long, hot shower. Once inside, she strips as quick as she can and in moments, the comforting spray of almost-scalding heat envelops her in a warm embrace.

She lets the water beat down on her neck and after a few moments cracks it both ways, the tension in her suddenly draining with instant relief. She rotates her shoulders back and feels them pop as well, her eyes roll back in near-ecstasy. She washes away the day's grime and pampers her hair with her favorite conditioner, Strawberry Sunset. She waits an undetermined amount of time to allow the stuff to sink in and settle deep, but its just an excuse to stay longer in the calming hot.

Finally, when she's had enough, she sighs. "Off," she says to the steady spray of water. Nothing happens. "I said, Shower OFF!" she grunts, and slams the tile wall beside her in her frustration. There's a squeak as the pipes slowly cut off the supply and the warm jets of water stop, dribbling a little from the head above her. Not as much of a dump as the last place, but the tech here is old, worn out. Modern showers have motion sensors that automatically come on or shut off as soon as the lack of a presence is detected. Damn it, this means she'll need to call a repairman over in the morning to check the command panel. Its probably glitching.

Claire towels herself and makes her way to her bedroom. She stands before the closet, rifling through her work outfits. Finally, she picks a dark blue form-fitting dress that's riddled with narrow horizontal oval rips everywhere, leaving only very little to the imagination. Its entirely legal to where out in public. Barely. She slips on a pair of heels the same shade and stops by the mirror to put on her 'come hither' face.

It's a familiar ritual, one she's done almost every other night since she was oh…about sixteen. It's comforting in the way that familiar rituals usually are. The face is like armor to her, every exacting line, every precise brush-stroke, another layer of defense against something so deep down she's nearly forgotten about her: the girl, that on bad nights, still cries herself to sleep once Serah's safely drifted off herself. The girl whose once-bright future died with Mr. and Mrs. Farron six years ago. Once the face is on, there's a stranger staring back at her. Dead cerulean eyes know the act so well. The face is good armor for that which ails. The face gave her Lightning, and _Lightning_ knows how to carry on.

It was _Lightning_ who found her at her crisis point, that second night, when she knew the money she'd earned the first night wouldn't stretch to the end of the week with all the bills that were due and her and Serah slowly but surely facing the choice every destitute person has known: starvation or eviction. It was _Lightning_ who picked up the powder puff and ever so gently hid the bruises left by that ass Estheim. It was Lightning who made the decision, Lightning who sacrificed for Serah the next six years of their lives. And now, with Serah about to enter University, Lightning would have had it no other way.

She backs away from the mirror slowly, coming out of the flashback with a sense of …loss, or something close to it. She shoves it down and checks the face. It's the same one she's always put on. It isn't meant to be subtle or subdued, or any of that bull you hear about makeup needing to "look like it's natural, like you're not wearing any". Her lips are bright red, the subconscious color of sex and blood, of primal instinct. Everything else is meant to draw attention to it.

With her armor on, Lightning heads out to face the night, pausing only briefly in front of Serah's door. Serah looks up from where she's laying on her stomach on her bed, shoes off, legs gently swaying as they're angled upward at the knees. She pulls the mogbuds out of her ears, where she's been casually looking over her class schedule.

"I'm going out," is all Lightning says.

"Okay," Serah replies, "Can I invite someone over? You remember Vanille?"

"Fine, but send her home early, you have classes tomorrow,"

"I know. I will."

"If you're in bed… when I get back," this part is always hard. Lightning falters.

Serah smiles from the bed. She hops up and walks over to her sister, grabbing her up in a big hug. She kisses her cheek. "Good night, Claire," she says and waits for Lightning to hug her back, and she does, so tight, always tight.

"Good night Serah," comes the expected whisper, and then she's gone with the click of the front door shutting behind her.

Serah hops back onto her bed. She pulls her phone out and composes a text: **She's gone, come on over!** and hits send to all her contacts.

* * *

Its near to dusk when she finally makes it to her destination, an out-of-the-way corner of town known as Looker's Point. It's known as that for the hill you can drive up to the top of and see for miles out over the beach. It's also called Hooker's Point, for less respectable reasons, as attested to by the squeaking of rusty car hinges parked up there.

Lightning does her best to get the attention of the drivers of the nicer-looking vehicles that hover by. It's hard work, traffic is thick, everyone just getting off work and trying to get home. They'd mostly being paying attention to traffic. They won't see her -or any of the others that skulk the nearby corners- unless they're actively looking.

Here comes a slow-moving car now. Crawling really. The hover car pulls away from traffic and stops just in front of her. Score! Lightning thanks Etro for her luck as the tinted back window slides down. Or not.

Her eyes widen. She takes a step back and is met with a smile that makes her sick to her stomach. Its _him_!

"Lady Lightning," his grin is toothy.

"Raines," she says, flat.

"I believe I've warned you before about using my given name in our business dealings, Ms. Farron."

Lightning hears herself swallow. Her hearts starting to pound. Cid's a big name around here. He's currently running for senate. Well, re-running. Long story short, he's got a lot of power and a lot more influence. He gets what he wants. You don't tell him no. Not if you don't want to end up on the ocean floor with cement shoes.

"Would you care to accompany me this fine evening?" his smooth voice rolls the words out like a red carpet.

Lightning knows better, though, its no red carpet, more like a steel trap. "I-I..I'd love to, but I can't,"

His brow furrows, features darkening. "Oh? And why can't you?"

Lightning swallows again, harder. She can't exactly turn him down flat. He wouldn't like that, and he would just come after her some other time. Or maybe even-

_No, don't think of that!_

Lightning doesn't allow herself to finish the thought. It might make her lose her nerve. "I'm …already taken …for the whole evening. I'm just waiting for my client,"

Cid shrugs, as if it doesn't really matter. "Meet him some other time,"

"I can't. Real important big-wig, you know the type," she quickly fires off. "Maybe we can try to catch up some other night" she laughs nervously and waves, turning to leave.

She doesn't take two steps before she hears him open the car door and get out. In another two, he's caught up and turning her around to face him. "Ms. Farron, I don't think you quite understand the significance of the impending events of this evening, or much less your role in them. However, I shall forgive your ignorance, and spare your embarrassment, provided you would be willing to forego your previous engagements and join me tonight."

Lightning does the bravest -or stupidest- thing she's ever done. She wrenches her arm free, which is easy because he isn't really gripping hard. "No thank you," she says and walks away.

The chase is on. She can hear his footsteps behind her and she picks up the pace as she rounds the corner. There's more action here. Lots of lights and people, a little outdoor-seating restaurant. Good. She's got to be quick though, make it to all those prying eyes. He's catching up, she can hear him right behind her.

"_Lightning_," he calls to her, and just that one word, her name on his tongue is enough to send a shiver of pure dread through her. She tries to be steady, calm.

"Look, I've told you, I really do have to be going now, Mr. Smith. I'm sorry, I'll see you another time."

Lightning's practically running now. Cid catches up and cuts her off, blocking her path down the walkway.

"You're making a mistake, Lightning," he warns. "I wouldn't want you to suffer the consequences,"

No, she isn't , she thinks. Cid's a two-headed snake. He can talk smooth, like he is now, or he can talk street. Lightning's heart is jack hammering with knowledge gained by experience. Cid's a dangerous man, all the way around, but if he's talking street, he's good and shitfaced six ways to Sunday, and when he's that damned fucked up he's a lot less dangerous. The Cid standing in front of her now, is the Cid she knows more than well enough to be afraid of.

"I have to meet my client, Mr. Smith. I'll meet up with you another night,"

"I'm afraid that's not how things are going to transpire, here, Ms. Farron,"

"I don't have time for this," she says and bypasses him to go around and on her way. Just a little further down the street, to the safety of the crowded restaurant, or the lighted shops along the tiny thoroughfare.

He rounds on her and grabs her hard. "Then I would suggest you _make_ the time, Ms. Farron,"

"Oww!" she cries out at the sudden jerk of pain from her elbow to her shoulder. She struggles to break free, but his grip only tightens. "Let go of me!"

Cid growls and starts to drag her away. Lightning clearly does not want to go willingly. Just when her fate looks grim and certain, a shout rings clear through the night.

"Hey! Dafuck ya think ya doin', creep!?"

They both freeze. Hundreds of eyes look around at the shout and finally spot them. Cid pulls her close. "This is far from over, Farron." He fixes her with a final stare, then glances above her head, into the distance, glaring. Finally, he releases his grip and walks away, ducking into the shadows and turning his head away from prying eyes.

* * *

Its late now, the sun having sunk below the horizon. There's a chill in the air that wasn't present when they'd arrived at the little bistro on the corner of podunksomewhere and whogivesafuck. Fang blows out a breath, the steak settling heavy in her belly. The drinks she's had must be starting to hit her.

"Ohmigosh!" A collective grouping of gasps and squeals of excitement catch her attention to the side. A gaggle of girls, four or six of them, Fang can't tell which. It might be the alcohol's effect, or a pair of them might be twins.

"Are you Oerba Yun Fang?" the bravest one asks.

"Sure hope so. That's what it says on my underwear,"

The girls laugh as expected and then ask for her autograph, the bravest one telling how much she's always admired Fang's films and she's taking film classes herself, working toward a degree in production and how she wants to be just like Fang, and how much Fang inspires her. Fang smiles and laughs and even takes a few pictures with them. Satisfied with their moment of fangirldom, the girls finally leave.

Vanille's phone vibrates as she's finishing off the last bits of her grilled chocobo salad.. She glances at it as the waiter brings their check and Fang signs off on the bill. She stretches and leaves a generous tip. "Ready?" she asks behind a yawn after Vanille sets her fork down, wipes her mouth with her napkin, wads it up and throws it on the plate.

Vanille confirms with a nod. Fang gets up and takes the last swallow of her drink, can't let good alcohol go to waste after all. The cousins head a little farther up the street, where James is patiently waiting in his formal suit, white gloves, black tie, and driver's cap. Upon seeing his mistresses approach, the old butler steps out of the limousine and walks toward the back door. He waits for Miss Dia and Miss Yun, then opens the door, allowing them in, and shuts it behind them. He walks back with unhurried strides and lets himself into the driver's seat. The window behind his head is down. Without looking back, using the mirror instead, he asks:

"Where to Miss Yun?"

Fang slowly notices his question and brings herself to look up front. She's about to say 'home', when a flash of pink and two sets of legs catches her eye, one pair bare, and the other covered in dark slacks, the covered pair rushing to catch up with those familiar legs Fang knows from somewhere. "Hey…what?" she asks no one. She fumbles with the electronic window button and finally it begins to descend.

"-really do have to be going now, Mr. Smith. I'm sorry, I'll see you another time."

Its her. Lightning. She's walking away fast from some guy in a dark suit. Fang can't tell if it's black or navy, but his hair is jet and slicked back from his face. She knows him from somewhere, that intimidating stature, she's seen him before, she's sure of it. 'Mr. Smith' hurries his strides and overtakes her, cutting off her path. His voice is low, she can't hear what he's saying, but it doesn't look like Lightning's enjoying it. She shakes her head and goes around him. "I don't have time for this,"

He grabs her arm, pulling her back. Lightning struggles against his grip, clearly trying to break it. "Ow! Let go of me!"

Fang sees red. Instantly, her buzz is gone. She steps out of the limo, shouting at the top of her lungs, ready to pound the guy into oblivion. "Hey! Dafuck ya think ya doin' creep!?" Everyone on the street stops and turns to look at what the commotion is.

'Mr. Smith's eyes narrow just slightly at Fang. He regards Lightning with a pointed look and says something to her Fang can't hear. Then he lets go and looks at Fang a moment, before turning away and walking back in the direction they had come from.

* * *

Lightning's eyes lock with Fang's and the brunette sees a pair of familiar emotions in those beautiful sky-hued eyes, relief and gratitude. Lightning walks up to her as all the people that had been eyeing the scene slowly turn away and go back to whatever they had been doing before. "Fang…"she says, still relieved, "Am I glad to see you,"

"Funny," Fang replies, "I was just about to say the same to you," She smirks that damned charming smirk of hers and indicates the open limo door beside her. "Need a ride?"

Lightning actually smiles. "Thank you," she bids, before climbing in and finding herself seated next to the redheaded girl her sister is supposedly 'in love' with.

"Hi," the girl greets her as Fang gets in and shuts the door.

"Vanilla?" she asks.

The girl smiles, "Vanille," she thinks about it for a moment, then adds, "but you were close enough, I guess,"

James patiently waits for all to get acquainted before he interrupts with a gentle clearing of his throat. "Where to, Ma'am?"

Fang defers to Lightning. "Where to, Ma'am?"

"Anywhere. I don't care. Just go,"

Fang sits back and laces her hands together behind her head. "You heard the lady, James,"

"Yes Ma'am," and they begin to pull out into traffic.

"Um, Fang?" this from Vanille.

"Yeah, squirt?"

"Can I go over to a friend's?"

Lightning looks over at her. "Serah?"

Vanille blushes faintly with a small nod. "How'd you know?"

"Wild guess," is her answer.

Lighting directs the chauffer how to get to her place. It takes a while, but eventually they get there and let Vanille out. Lightning warns Vanille to be out by nine as Serah has classes in the morning, and seeing that they have the same classes, Vanille probably does too. Fang instructs James to come pick her cousin up at the specified time and he answers with his usual, "Yes, Ma'am,"

Riding off, Fang notices how tense Lightning is. Her shoulders are tight, she's jumpy at every one of Fang's little caresses of the bare skin showing through her ripped-style dress. "So what was all that about?"

Lightning shakes her head, "Nothing. Its nothing,"

" 'Nothing' that had you screaming in pain?" Fang arches a dusky brow, unconvinced.

_Maker-damn_, she wishes this woman would just open up to her. Yeah, they don't know much of each other, but so what, that's what learning's for, right?

Fang's fingers idly caress up Lightning's thigh, so absent, like she doesn't even know she's doing it. Lightning fidgets, trying to block out the shivery sensations running through her and the warmth it spreads to her.

"Why'd he hurt ya like that?"

Lightning buries her head in a hand. "So fucking complicated" she murmurs.

"Don'thavetabe"

Lightning looks at her. "What?"

Shit, Fang thinks. The liquor's really settling in now, slurring her speech. She tries again, slower. "I said, it don't have to be. Stop seein 'im"

Lightning scoffs. "It's not that simple."

Fang takes her in, the whole sight of this stunning, heartbreakingly beautiful woman. She wants her, bad. Not just for the time being either. Fang needs someone, needs to take care of someone. She needs to be the one someone needs, she knows this. Without it, the staggering, aching loneliness is what turns her to the bottle. She's there as much as she can be for Vanille, as much as Vanille will let her. But Vanille's growing up, growing distant. And one-night girls won't do the trick for Fang anymore. She knows she's setting herself up, but she can't help it. She's falling fast and she knows there's nothing she can do to stop it.

"I can make it that simple," she says, the truth of her offer shining through her eyes.

Lightning blinks rapidly, her eyes gone much too wide. "You… don't know what you're saying,"

"Sure I do," Fang assures her, "I can make it all as simple as you want,"

Lightning eyes the floor, her tone is low, but her voice is steady, "Life… isn't a fairy-tal-"

Bewilderment seizes her mind, Fang's lips crushing to her own with such ferocity. She opens to her, an almost automatic reaction to the urgency in her client. She's been kissed on the job before. In the beginning she'd respond, but with much reluctance, her stomach turning at the same time. Over the years, the reaction has become automated, though the taste of bile never leaves her mouth.

This is immediately different. Its doing _something_ to her. Even as rough as Fang's being- catching and biting her bottom lip, sucking so hard it's a fine line between pain and pleasure, delving, dominating with her luxurious tongue and crushing hard enough to bruise. She's supposed to hate it, she knows that. But she doesn't, and that _something_ slowly climbs higher through her consciousness pervading and then denouncing every rule Lightning has ever made; She feels her limbs flood with adrenaline, her blood rushes hot. It frightens her. She's not supposed to feel anything. She never has.

Lightning pushes Fang off, breaking the kiss, but Fang doesn't go far. She's nipping Lightning's chin when the question comes, breathy, "What are you doing?" from a panting Lightning.

Fang pulls back a little to take in the look on Lightning's face. It's questioning, but there's no anger. Lightning similarly discerns the heavy gaze in Fang's eyes. There's a softness at the edges, but her eyes are hazy with lust. "Takin' what I want," she says, the tenderness never leaving her eyes as she re-captures Lightning's mouth.

Lightning's hardly in a position to stop her, not that she wants to, but against that growing _something_, she's powerless, helpless in Fang's grasp. The scrape of teeth along her collarbone, the hollow of her neck, shoulder. Soft, nipping kisses against her skin. Laid down on the leather seat. She turns her head away with a small gasp. Warm fingers tracing a path over her breasts, stomach, thighs; short nails gently tickle. Expert fingers find her. Fang's lips crush to hers again, nipping between breaths. Lightning responds with the same, completely on autopilot.

Something's winding inside of her. All of it building, gaining momentum towards something that has her shivering, twitching with the need for it. Her back is arched, every muscle in her body pulled impossibly tight. She's gasping for air, soft mewls that don't sound like her own voice escape her throat. She can feel it. Something inside of her's gonna break. Finally, with a loud scream ripping out from deep inside her, it does.

When the world seeps back into her awareness, Fang's there, smiling, the tenderness ever-present in her gaze. It takes Lightning a full minute to recover enough breath to speak. The limousine comes a stop, the engine dies.

"Wh…How did…what…?" is all she can manage.

Fang's smirking again. "Well, when ya been doin' it 'long as I have, ya kinda pick up on a few things,"

Lightning just stares blankly at her, not quite sure what that's supposed to mean.

"Wait…" Fang's brow furrows, "that soun'd so much better in my 'ead…"

Laying back against the leather seat, Lightning has a feeling, like an epiphany. After all the times she's done this, she suddenly knows what sex is all about. To be honest, she's never really understood the whole hubbub about it. She's had hundreds of johns over the years, their fetishes ranging the entire gamut of depravity from wax play to voyeurism. Now that was a strange one indeed. The guy never once touched her, he just wanted to watch while she touched herself. So she did. For what had seemed like hours. But even that had been nothing compared to what she's now recovering from. Lightning's never known sex could be…

_Wonderful. _

Fang's eyes light up. She's looking down at Lightning with a shit-eating grin from ear to ear beneath those sparkling emeralds.

"What?" Lightning asks, annoyed with that damnable smirk of hers.

"You're smiling."

She is. She realizes as soon as it's out of the other woman's mouth. She can't help it. With the stress of things, she's never felt so… content as she does at this very moment, like a cat with a bellyful of warm cream.

"Just wait 'til I get through with you," Lightning threatens, though its impact is lessened by the fact that Fang has to help her to feet as they exit the limo.

"Oh?" Fang queries, Cheshire grin still plastered in place.

* * *

You wouldn't think this place is the neighborhood party-house, not from the quiet outside or the drab exterior. But once Vanille sets foot inside, its a whole different story. The first thing that hits her is the music, loud, blaring, seeming to come at her from all sides. The lighting is low. Throngs of strangers push and shove and grind each other as Vanille makes her way through. The second thing that hits her is the smell.

Gyshal weed. The unmistakable aroma of greens coming on strong. There's also an underlying smell of alcohol, and the stench of stale vomit coming from somewhere in the main room.

"Serah?" she calls out, not recognizing anyone at all. "Serah? Are you here?"

A guy with long blue spikes of hair is holding a cup she can only assume is filled with beer. He jerks a thumb down the hallway. "Bedroom."

"Thanks!" Vanille shouts to be heard over the music. The guy nods and sips his beer, turning his attention back to the girl who's grinding her backside against his front.

Vanille makes her way down the hallway. There are three doors here, the bathroom, which is open, and where some poor soul is throwing up his guts, and two that are closed. The closest one seems to be devoid of life. The one at the far end of the hall has a bit of light shining under the crack between the edge of the door and the ratty, shag green carpet. The closer she gets, she can hear muffled voices, and the pungent smell of skunk is much stronger here.

She gently knocks. No one answers. She knocks a bit harder. A moment passes, and the door creaks open. She's eyed suspiciously by a guy she doesn't know. He's short, blonde, looks like a hover-skater, and looks between ten and fourteen.

"Who're you?" he asks, his voice strained.

"Vanille," she hears herself say.

"Stop fuckin' around, Maqui. Let her in," she hears Serah's voice from somewhere behind.

Maqui lets out the toke he'd been holding with a relieved sigh. His eyes start to water and his pupils dilate as he opens the door for Vanille. He politely shuts it behind her, or maybe that's because Serah doesn't want the others in her bedroom.

"Hey!" Serah greets her warmly from where she's sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the bed, then introduces her. "Guys, this is Vanille. She's so awesome. We have like five classes together, and she's already my bestie,"

"Vanille, these are the guys,"

One by one Serah's close friends introduce themselves.

"Yuj," says the guy who hands her a pipe filled with fluffy greens and a lighter. Vanille shakes his hand, and takes her turn, then passes it to the left. "You've already met my little brother, Maqui." Vanille nods. The blonde kid waves at her.

"How old are you?" Vanille asks.

"Sixteen," he replies.

"Oh," is all Vanille can say, "You look a lot younger,"

"Yeah, yeah," he waves off. "Everybody tells me that,"

"The big guy is Gadot," Serah explains, "He's the oldest brother. Their sister owns a bar or something,"

Vanille can't believe how huge the guy is. His hulking musculature takes up most of the room they're in. He's the biggest guy she's ever seen, bigger even than the big blonde guy taking up Serah's entire bed.

"He and Snow work security at Eden U."

The blonde, Snow, speaks up, putting an arm around her and squeezing her comparatively tiny frame to him for just a second longer than Vanille feels comfortable with. "I've known Serah since high school." He scratches his head, "but, I.. kinda dropped out my senior year,"

The pipe is passed around until a general good mood is being had by all. An alarm goes off and Vanille nearly pisses herself, it sounds so much like a police siren. The others laugh at her a little when she jumps to a stand, drops the empty greens pipe and puts her hands in the air, screaming "I'm innocent! I swear!"

"Calm down, 'Nille," Serah laughs, "it's just my alarm," she innocently shows her phone buzzing in her hand. She sighs, and the other guests all seem to get up reluctantly and hug her, each bidding a slightly different goodbye.

Serah gets up and starts tossing beers into a trash bag and emptying ashtrays that reek of spent greens. Vanille decides to give her a hand, it's worth it for the stunning smile she receives.

* * *

Clashing teeth has never been hotter, nipping, -_biting-_, at her lower lip. The kiss was her idea, but now Lightning's taking over. Lightning's taking over everything. Ripping her tie off, roughly shrugging her out of her jacket, yanking her belt off with a harsh tug, crashing them into furniture that Fang can't seem to avoid in their heated rush to the bedroom.

It doesn't matter much. The pain is temporary and blunted by the scathing _now_ of Lightning's hungry hands, her demanding mouth. She'll definitely feel it tomorrow, but now it doesn't matter. Now what matters is fumbling with the entry code for the door. Fuck! Why didn't she leave it on auto-open? _Arrrh! _

With a growl that only encourages further roughness from Lightning, Fang punches at the control panel until the door slides open with a _swish. _They're in. The door swishes closed behind them. Fang's back crashes to the bed. Lightning climbs on top of her, straddling her waist, legs at either side of her hips.

Fang sees an opportunity to return some of the favor, and slides a hand between Lightning's thighs. A hand that's quickly seized in a vice-grip that's surprisingly strong coming from the smaller woman. She takes the mate at the wrist and pins them both with one hand over Fang's head with a growled warning. She devours Fang's lips, breaks her underwear off with a _snap! _sound as the delicate lace falls away. An insistent knee shoves Fang's legs wider while Lightning gnaws at her jaw, her throat, nipping her way down to her heaving chest.

Fang lets out a pleasured groan as a greedy tongue lavishes her mounds, hisses as teeth mark them. Her eyes roll back in her head when Lightning finds her center and rubs her hard and merciless. The hand holding her wrists leaves to find her entrance. Fang arches off the bed with a cry when it does. Lightning captures her mouth again, swallowing all of her sounds, greedy for them as she pumps, working Fang at both points of pleasure. She gasps when Lightning spreads her with a second addition, then a third. It doesn't take long after that. Fang screams beautifully, the echo dying out to a raspy, hitching breath.

But its not over. Fang's about to find out, the night is far from over. Before its all said and done, she'll come for Lightning again, and again, and again. After the fourth time, too sore to continue, she'll beg for her to stop. And Lightning will grin at her with most self-satisfied smirk she's ever seen.

* * *

A/N: Phew! 19 pages! Am I glad to be done with this monster. Truthfully, it's not even where I intended to end, but I'll just put the rest into the next chapter.


End file.
